Chapter 8
Robert Hale was not easy to find.
The first number was disconnected.
The second belonged to a law office that claimed he retired.
The third went to voicemail.
Marcus left a message.
I sent a photo of the note.
Robert called back in four minutes.
His voice was old.
Sharp.
“Who gave you this number?”
“My father. Thomas Bennett.”
Silence.
Then a breath.
“Is Eleanor moving against you?”
My skin went cold.
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“The cabin.”
“Leave.”
“Why?”
“Because if they searched it, they know enough to be dangerous.”
I looked at Marcus.
“What did my father bury?”
Robert exhaled.
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
“Your father discovered laundering through Vance family charities twenty years ago. Political donations. Shell companies. Judges. Real estate. He hid copies before they destroyed him.”
Destroyed him.
My voice dropped.
“My father died of cancer.”
Robert was silent too long.
“Robert?”
“I represented him when he first suspected poisoning.”
The world tilted.
Marcus grabbed the table.
“No.”
I whispered, “You’re lying.”
“I wish I were.”
My father’s illness had been sudden.
Aggressive.
Doctors called it rare.
My mother had always said grief killed her afterward.
Maybe grief had help.
Robert continued.
“Thomas hid the originals at the cabin. If Eleanor wants the land, she thinks they are still there.”
“The chest is gone.”
“Then pray she doesn’t have the code.”
“What code?”
“The one only your father’s children could know.”
A crash came from the front room.
Leah shouted.
“Down!”
Glass shattered.
Something rolled across the floor.
Smoke.
Marcus dragged me toward the back door.
Leah fired once.
Men shouted outside.
We ran for the dock.
My lungs burned.
Behind us, my father’s cabin filled with smoke.
At the water’s edge, my phone buzzed.
Julian.
I answered.
He was crying.
“Khloe, I’m sorry.”
“Where are you?”
“With them,” he whispered.
May you like
Then a man’s voice took the phone.
“Bring the code, or your husband dies.”
